


A Voice By Any Other Face

by Duender, hypno_sis



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: A baby pop star, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Non-Magical, F/M, Harry has a voice fetish, How Do I Tag, Isn't this how you tag?, M/M, Muggle AU, Tom is a pop star, We don't blame him, i don't care
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-14
Updated: 2020-06-14
Packaged: 2021-03-04 07:43:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24719983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Duender/pseuds/Duender, https://archiveofourown.org/users/hypno_sis/pseuds/hypno_sis
Summary: ...sounds just as sinful.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Tom Riddle, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, past Harry Potter/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 22
Kudos: 199





	A Voice By Any Other Face

**Author's Note:**

> This was totally not self-projecting, what are you talking about?

“Mate, you need a life,” Ron said with a groan as he collapsed into a beanbag in Harry’s living room.

Harry looked at Ron through narrowed green eyes and knitted brows. Offended, he replied, “I _do_ have a life! I have a job, I have friends, I go out with you guys all the time-”

“He means you need something else to do, other than mooning over that Youtuber,” Hermione said in a matter-of-fact way, leaning against the doorway nursing her usual afternoon cup of coffee.

“Okay, first of all,” Harry held up a finger. “He’s not just a Youtuber anymore, his songs have topped the charts several times, he’s practically a celebrity! Secondly-” He ignored Ron’s sigh. “I don’t _moon_ over him,” he added, tone defensive and his voice a little louder than usual.

Hermione looked at him evenly and raised a sceptical brow. “You were complaining just last week that his voice couldn’t belong to a mortal.”

“It _can’t!_ Have you heard him?!” Harry cried. “That husky voice can _not_ belong to anyone except an angel.” _Or someone who sold his soul to the devil,_ Harry thought to himself. _Angels are overrated anyway._

Ron opened his mouth. “And the mask just adds to the aesthetics of his music,” Harry spoke over him. “And, like, have you seen his fingers?!” 

Ron threw his head back, exasperated and utterly done with his best friend. “You are obsessed, mate. Obsessed!” 

“And that body,” Harry continued, his eyes out of focus and voice dreamy. “He doesn’t even have to _move_ to be the most graceful person in the room. He’s like flowing water.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Must you be this way?” she asked, but her lips were twitching upwards. Harry knew she wasn’t mad at but flushed anyway, grinning mischievously.

Ron opened his mouth, sensing what was coming, but Harry spoke right over him. “His latest song is _heaven!_ I mean, I know he makes himself sound husky intentionally, but the smoothness underneath is -” Harry sighed a starry-eyed sigh. “I couldn’t concentrate on _anything_ , his voice just _washes_ over you and pulls you under like this tide of pure euphoria.”

Hermione held up a hand but Harry ignored her as well. “I can get _drunk_ on his voice alone. And his music just makes it even better. Just laying in bed, feeling his lyrics wash away until all you can hear is his very soul. It feels like fingers running down my spine in the best fucking way.”

He couldn’t help but snort out a laugh as he glanced at his friends. Hermione and Ron looked so done with him.

Ron leaned over. “This totally means you have a voice fetish,” his male best friend said with a wicked grin, ignoring his girlfriend’s scandalised “Ronald!” and dodging her swat.

“I do not!” Harry said, cheeks burning as he crossed his arms to hide his trembling fingers.

He did. He totally did.

**  
  
**

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**  
  
**

Revealing fetishes to friends when they were supposed to be going out for lunch an hour later was supposed to be an embarrassing experience, but Ron and Hermione had known him for too long, seen him at his worst. They knew each other inside out (though he could have gone all his life without knowing the sordid details of his best friends’ sex life).

“Sushi?” Hermione asked, spotting the little sushi bar they favoured on Fridays. 

Ron shook his head. “Let’s go Chinese.”

Harry crossed his arms. Friendships did not matter here, this was war. “Mexican!” 

The three of them stared each other down.

“Draw of sticks,” Hermione stated, always the mediator. She reached into her ever-present purse and pulled out three sticks, something they had made years ago when they came to an impasse, but the method had stuck ever since. She held them in one hand, the painted bottoms covered by her palm, and held them out.

Ron reached over and plucked one out, face falling at the red stick. Harry followed his lead, and held up his green stick victoriously.

“Mexican it is!” he pumped a fist, ignoring the sighs behind him as he led the way to their usual Mexican diner.

**  
  
**

____________________________________

**  
  
**

“-and he just dumped her in front of the _entire office,”_ Hermione whispered as a waiter passed by their circular booth.

“Poor Romilda,” Ron said, viciously biting into his taco. Harry couldn’t blame him, the girl had tried to drug him at a party, back when they were in college.

Hermione coughed. “Anyways, how’s work been for you, Harry?”

Harry shrugged. “Same old, really. A new singer came in yesterday, looking for a deal. Albus told her to come back after some vocals training.”

“In other words, she sucked,” his redhead friend summarized. 

Harry shrugged. “You know how Albus is, he wants to see the best in everyone. This one got the message, though. I think. She was really sweet, she told me she was a blogger and was just trying out new things,” he said, chewing quesadilla.

“A blogger? How nice! Did you get her name?” Hermione asked eagerly.

“Luna Lovegood.”

She immediately deflated. “Ugh. That wispy blonde? She posts rubbish.” Her tone changed to one she used for things she found disappointing and worthless.

Harry frowned at her. “That’s rude, Hermione. She is a really nice person.”

Hermione shrugged, pushing away her empty plate. “Her blog has nothing substantial. Draco Malfoy, on the other hand, recently started posting regularly about his job. Did you know that it is technically illegal-”

“I can’t believe you keep tabs on that git, Hermione!” Ron groaned. “Why him? He’s a bigoted jerk. Harry, you understand, don’t you?”

Harry patted his shoulder soothingly, deciding it was best to not mention his hook-up with the blond. It wasn’t his fault that the smarmy ponce had such a _delectable_ posh accent which combined oh-so-deliciously with his rich voice!

 _Yeah, definitely a voice fetish,_ the voice in Harry’s head said. _Acceptance is the first step, Potter._

**  
  
**

____________________________________

**  
  
**

Harry liked his job. His boss was a little eccentric, but he supposed that was the price for his genius. Applying to Phoenix Records was the best thing he had done in his entire life. Music would always be his first love. He would sneak out of Privet Drive and walk five blocks to the theatre, where the musicians welcomed him with warm smiles and open arms. He’d felt like he _belonged,_ like he wasn’t a freak or unwanted.

Harry had met Minerva McGonagall in that tiny theatre of Surrey. She taught him how to play the piano, and that’s where he spent all his afternoons from the age of six till eleven. But of course, the Dursleys would never let it continue. One month after his eleventh birthday, his dream of leaving Surrey and making the piano his life shattered.

One small mistake, one Dudley Dursley following him, one punishment from Vernon that resulted in broken fingers, and Harry could never play again.

Harry remembered very clearly, how he had gone back to the theatre, crying and in pain. How he’d felt like he’d never be the same again, how it felt like his chest had been hollowed out and he could do nothing but drown in the pain. Minerva had hugged him close, playing for him for several hours. That evening, he returned to Privet Drive with a fierce woman in tow who berated the Dursleys and threatened to call the police.

There wasn’t much else she could do for him, but Harry had been extremely grateful. The Dursleys had stopped their physical punishments, though the chores were still his, and he didn’t have to hold back in school anymore. He had studied hard through middle and high school, and ended up being offered a scholarship to Hogwarts University. Finally, life had begun looking up for him.

Harry met the people he would do anything for on the first day at Hogwarts. Ron and Hermione had stuck by him ever since, he honestly couldn’t have asked for better friends.

Ron’s mother, Molly Weasley, who practically adopted Harry into her brood, had been the one to introduce him to Albus Dumbledore. The man had been a family friend of the Weasley’s for decades and had eyed Harry’s list of achievements appreciatively. Harry secured a job a year and three months before he graduated from college.

Harry shook his head to clear out his thoughts, flexing his fingers. Pain was something he was used to by now. He looked down sadly at his slightly trembling fingers, something no amount of physiotherapy would be able to fix.

He sighed and went back to looking at his computer screen, quickly noting the next name on the list. He would never let anyone find him day-dreaming on the job, not one he respected and loved so much. He glanced around from his spot behind the receptionist desk. There were seven people waiting in the lounge for a meeting with Albus.

“Ms. Chang, you may enter in two minutes,” he informed the Asian girl. She nodded and went back to the magazine she had brought along with her.

The elevator door opened and a man walked in. Harry gave him a cursory glance - the man was handsome, he supposed - and flashed a smile.

“Please take a seat, Mr-” 

The man walked straight across the lounge and pushed open the door to Albus’ office.

Harry sprang up. “Excuse me, you can _not_ go in right now-” 

The man had already shut the door behind him. Everyone waiting in the lounge gave him a disbelieving look. 

“I apologize,” Harry told them stiffly before hurrying into the office.

Albus looked up, his long white beard doing nothing to hide his wide smile. Harry glared at the back of the rude man’s head. Albus chuckled.

“It’s alright, Harry, you better go appease the ones waiting outside,” he said with his usual twinkling eyes. Harry sighed.

“Yes sir.” He had some ruffled feathers to soothe, he wasn’t going to let someone talented walk out of here without a record deal.

**  
  
**

____________________________________

**  
  
**

Harry looked up as the man walked out of the office. Waving Cho Chang in, he scowled at the dark-haired man. Looking him up and down, Harry could admit he was extremely handsome. But that did not excuse his behaviour.

“Excuse me, mister, but you can't just walk into Albus’ office without going through me. There’s a reason I have a desk in front of his door,” Harry said matter-of-factly, frowning at the tall man. 

The stranger turned and gave him a once-over. He locked his eyes - _was he wearing red contacts_?- with Harry’s green and smirked. “The name’s Tom Riddle, darling.”

_Oh. My. Goodness._

Harry felt an uncomfortable warmth suffusing his cheeks and creeping down to his neck. His heart had leapt into his throat and had started beating so _wildly,_ he wouldn’t be surprised if the other man -Tom Riddle, was it? Harry couldn’t even _think-_ could hear it hammering away. 

Harry kept staring at him with his eyes slightly widened. 

_How could anyone have a voice like that?_

He felt a haze settle in his mind. The only thing going round and round in his head was his smooth and rich voice. Tom’s voice had the richness of a flute and the depth of the fucking _sea_. Harry wanted to sigh, but his body had gone stiff, as if that voice had charged every nerve there was in his body. 

_I’d drown in that voice with a smile on my face and never come up for air._

A cough brought Harry out of his daze. His cheeks burned an even brighter red as he realized he had zoned out. _Just by hearing someone say five words_.

“H-Harry Potter,” he answered quickly, raising a trembling hand to run through his hair.

Tom raised an eyebrow. “Are you alright?” 

“I- uh-” Harry tried to swallow, but his mouth was as dry as a desert. His brain was still playing Tom Riddle’s voice on repeat, which definitely was not helping. 

Tom cleared his throat. “I have caused many a flustered faces, but I must say, darlin’, none have been as _utterly speechless_ as you,” he said with an arrogant smirk.

Harry narrowed his eyes at Tom in a rare moment of clarity. He tried to form rational thoughts; he knew that he couldn’t let people get away with being unnecessarily mean to others, but his mind was far happier replaying the smooth, velvet-like sounds in a tantalizing loop. 

“Y-you can’t just waltz in here! There were people who’d made appointments _weeks_ earlier, and had been waiting for hours!”

 _Riddle_ (thinking about him by his first name was not going to help) raised an eyebrow. “That is absolutely none of my concern,” he said condescendingly. “Dumbledore will meet me whenever _I_ say so. Besides, I wasn’t here for a records deal like them,” he continued, glancing around the room. Most people had been glaring at him, but the three women had immediately looked away, cheeks red and eyes bright, while the four men had tried to stare him down but immediately averted their gaze when they met his crimson red eyes.

Harry stared at him, eyes wide. 

_Who does he think he is?_

_With a voice like that_ , one part of his treacherous conscience supplied, _he could waltz into the Queen’s throne room without an invitation._

Harry violently shook his head. It vaguely registered with him how ridiculous he must appear, flushed the most intense red and stammering reprimands at Tom Riddle in a room full of people. He buried his face in his trembling hands, took a deep breath, and looked up at Riddle again.

“No matter what your business with _Mr._ Dumbledore, you must wait like everyone else does,” Harry said firmly. He was quite proud of himself for not stuttering even once. 

Riddle simply smirked. “I’m not everybody.”

Harry narrowed his eyes. Angel’s voice or not…. “Who exactly do you think you are?”

A Cheshire grin was not what he expected. “Why don’t you find out, darling? Tomorrow, nine, at The Dorchester.”

Harry gaped. 

_Okay, that was definitely not what he had expected._

He twisted his features into a scowl, looked Riddle over once, twice, then locked eyes with him.  
“Absolutely not. Kindly get out of here. ” He felt his stomach twisting into knots even as he said it. He still couldn’t think straight, but no matter how gorgeous his voice was, Harry _wasn’t_ going to go out with a jerk. One he’d just met, for that matter.

Right?

Right.

Tom Riddle chuckled, and oh god, was he actively _trying_ to turn Harry into a puddle on the floor? Was Harry just imagining it, or was his voice getting smoother and smoother? Was that even _possible?_ Every syllable dripped with honey, Harry felt his voice all over his body as if it were a tangible entity, reaching out to tease him. He shivered, shutting his eyes tightly. 

Harry scowled, trying to gain his bearings, and pointed at the door. Tom Riddle walked out with a parting comment, “It was an absolute _delight_ to meet you, Harry Potter!”

And he was gone.

**  
  
**

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**  
  
**

“He’s holding his first concert!” Harry yelled into the phone, struggling to hold it steady. Ten miles away, his bushy-haired friend was holding her own cell phone a foot away from herself.

“He who?” she asked tiredly. Law was her first love, but being an intern at a firm meant that she was overworked, underpaid and in dire need of coffee.

“Lord V! He’s holding his debut concert on Sunday!! I got three tickets, you have to come!”

Despite her tired state, Hermione let a soft, fond smile grace her face. Harry did not have a lot to make him happy, she was glad he found joy in such simple things.

“Alright, alright. Ron’s free too, I’ll let him know!”

“Thanks Mione, love you!”

“Love you too, you insufferable brat. Now let me work.”

**  
  
**

____________________________________

The music swelled to a crescendo which made the hairs on the back of their necks stand up. Harry screamed along with most of the fans as Lord V sang the chorus. He rose from his seat, eyes shining and face blotchy with barely-suppressed ecstasy.

Hermione made eye contact with Ron.

 _He’s so gone on Lord V,_ she mouthed to him while gently swaying to the music.

 _Bloke does have a nice voice_ , he mouthed back to her. He had an arm raised, waving with the crests and falls. 

Lord V’s husky yet rich voice faded away. The only sound which could be heard now was the enthusiastic screaming from the audience, Harry among them. 

“Told you he was good!” Harry yelled at Ron over the noise. His voice was hoarse and cracked, but he had a huge grin on his face and a certain _glow_ about him.

“Yeah mate, that doesn’t mean you have to rub it in like that!”

Harry grabbed Ron and Hermione by the arm and hauled them up. “We’ve got a meet and greet to get to! Come ON!”

Hermione blinked. “Wha-?”

Harry didn’t even look at her. He continued dragging the two over to where two heavily muscled guards stood and a queue was beginning to form. “Mr. Dumbledore got us the premium tickets, remember? Best seats and a meet and greet afterwards! Now move, move, move!”

And even as they hurried- Ron and Hermione tripping over and stumbling as Harry raced to the meet and greet with them hand in hand- and lined up in the then-short queue- Harry seemed to be unable to decide if he wanted to gush about Lord V or silently burst with excitement. Despite the cold, sweat beaded on his forehead. His lips were cracked and dry, yet he couldn’t stop himself from grinning ear to ear. 

“Oh fuck, Hermione, he’s _here_ and I’m going to meet him-”

“Yes Harry”

“What will I _say_? I didn’t even think about that-”

“You’re going to be fine, Harry.”

“Mione, I think he’s going to explode-”

“Shush, Ron.” Hermione suppressed a chuckle. 

Harry bounced back and forth on the balls of his feet, biting his lip and spontaneously giggling every few seconds as the line inched forward.

After a few minutes- which, to Harry, felt like forever- it was finally his turn, and he was standing right in front of the man of his dreams.

For a moment, he didn’t seem to know what to do. He stared at Lord V’s masked face and red eyes as if he were worshipping every little detail he could glimpse of him; burning him into his memory.

Hermione calmly wrenched the now-crumpled poster from Harry’s arms from where he’d been clutching it to his chest and handed it to Lord V. “He’s an ardent fan of yours; he’s just a little overwhelmed right now.” 

Lord V said nothing as he took the poster from Hermione. He turned to Harry and raised an eyebrow- was he… _amused_?

And that was all that was needed to break the dam.

“You- you’re- I’m so- you-” Harry stammered, “You’re Lord V.”

Lord V cocked his head to the side as if to say, _oh I am_?

Harry licked his lips and swallowed. “I’m H-harry. Harry Potter. I love your music! It’s entirely unique and I’ve never heard anything like it since I first heard your songs. I’ve supported you from the very beginning and it feels so good to see you getting the recognition you deserve! You sing so well, I’d kiss your-” Harry suddenly let out a hiss. Hermione had stomped on his foot.

He gave her a betrayed look, but she simply returned an angelic smile and flicked her eyes forward. Harry ran his trembling hand through his hair, paling.

_Get a grip, Harry. Don’t blow it._

Seeing the man in real life was _overwhelming_ , to say the least. Seeing him perform in a video was very different from seeing him perform in person. His presence was electrifying, every eye in the room couldn’t help but be drawn to his voice and figure alike. It had been one of his greatest desires to meet him in real life. 

And he’d thoroughly embarrassed himself by going on and on, stammering and rambling like a lovestruck schoolgirl.

“Hello, Harry Potter,” Lord V purred. “It is an absolute delight to meet you,” he said as he signed the crumpled poster with a flourish.

Good gods, his voice sounded good enough when he sang, how was it possible for someone to sound even better when they were just talking?! His voice had lost the huskiness, it was impossibly rich and smooth. He was quite sure he’d never heard anything like it. 

Harry accepted back his poster with trembling fingers when it _clicked._

The voice. 

The eyes. 

The man.

Hermione tugged at his arm. Harry stood rooted on the spot, staring straight into crimson red eyes. Lord V winked at him. 

Fortunately, Hermione pulled him away before he could faint on the spot.

**  
  
**

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**  
  
**

Ron opened the door to the driver’s seat, having won the rock-paper-scissors game that had taken place before they had set out for the concert. Hermione looked at her best friend with worry.

“Is he actually broken? Even his fingers are still,” she asked her boyfriend in a whisper.

Harry was standing beside the car, poster in hand, staring at nothing. 

“...Harry?” his redhead friend asked. 

No reply.

Hermione sighed. “Just bundle him into the car.”

And that’s just what they did.

Hermione sincerely hoped no one thought they were kidnapping the emerald-eyed man. She did not need a criminal record tarnishing her perfect reputation.

**  
  
**

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**  
  
**

Harry flipped through the latest issue of Rolling Stones. Wednesdays were always slow, and there was only one other person in the lobby of Phoenix Records, Cho Chang. The Asian woman was engrossed in her own book, happy to be left alone until it was her turn to talk to Albus Dumbledore.

She must be impressive, Harry idly thought, for Albus to accept a second meeting. Impressive, but not extraordinary. That was always how it worked with the eccentric man. If someone was exceptional, they got a deal after just one meeting, else they were called again. 

Harry curled up comfortably in his desk chair, grateful his boss was not stingy about them. The AC was on, his chair was soft, and he had a magazine in his hand. Life was good. 

Or not.

It had been three days since the concert, and Harry still hadn’t gotten it out of his mind. The universe seemed to be mocking him, as the next page in the magazine was titled, ‘The Lord’s Royal Debut’. 

_Youtube music sensation and pop star has finally graced us with his presence on stage! The gold mask has not left his face yet, but certainly adds to the aesthetics of the settings. With silver masked backup dancers joining this graceful star, Lord V’s debut concert has been a massive hit amongst fans. Even critics admitted….._

_Several singles released on youtube overtook hit songs to top the billboards on several occasions……._

_“His voice is to die for,” say fans….._

_“Lord V is hot! With or without the mask.”....._

_But no one knows what lies behind the gold mask._

_Who is Lord V?_

‘A massive jerk,’ Harry thought vengefully as he slammed the book shut. ‘....a _hot_ massive jerk.’

Cho glanced up from her book.

“You okay?” she asked after a few seconds of silence.

Harry startled. “Uh, yeah. Albus will be with you in a couple of minutes.”

Cho nodded and went back to her book. 

Harry leaned back in his chair and sighed. Life was so unfair. Even though Harry knew who Lord V really was now, he couldn’t get over his magnificent voice. He could be singing about _pineapples_ and it would sound positively _sinful._ The man had the voice of a siren, the looks of an angel, and an aura that made you want to sell your soul to him.

His jawline was perfect, his eyes were perfect, his voice was perfect - Harry leaned back and let out another loud, drawn-out sigh. From the corner of his eye, he could see Cho look up at him weirdly, but he couldn’t care less - he had too much sorrow and self-pity to wallow in right now.

The main door swung open, and in walked Tom Riddle.

Harry sat up suddenly, and could only gape as the man winked at him and walked straight into Albus’ office. He had been wearing a white dress shirt and red trousers that matched his contacts - Harry’s palms were getting clammy. He couldn’t get one breath in as sin personified walked past him, let alone a word.

The lobby was once again silent as the door clicked shut behind Riddle.

Cho raised an unimpressed eyebrow at him. “Dude, again?!”

Harry shook his head. “I-I’m sorry, he’s... on the priority list-”

“Bullshit. You think he’s hot and you let him in while I’ve been waiting for ages!” Cho threw her hands up into the air as she stood up, tucking her book away. “This is extremely rude-”

“Ms. Chang,” a pleasant voice broke in. The two turned to see Albus Dumbledore and Harry’s beau standing in the doorway. “You can come in now, I’m sure Tom wouldn’t mind waiting for a few minutes.” 

Tom smirked and stepped out, letting the short woman walk past him. Harry sent a quick prayer to any god who could hear him. Albus closed the door after him.

“Hello, darling. How have you been?” Tom asked as he stepped towards Harry’s desk. 

Harry stiffened. He was conflicted about what he felt and thought about the other man. He’d been trying his best to ignore it, as if pretending the entire situation did not exist would somehow make it not exist.

“Albus only meets new and rising stars, not established celebrities,” Harry said stiffly, trying to calm his racing heart.

“He also meets old students,” Tom retaliated. He was now close enough to lean on the wall next to Harry’s chair, which is exactly what he did.

Harry took in a deep breath, but it turned out to be a mistake. He was close enough to smell the man’s cologne. It was a little musky, a little earthy…. and a little bloody? He shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts.

“I must say, I’m quite impressed,” Tom continued. “You’re the first person to have figured out my identity, never mind so easily. It couldn’t have been the eyes that gave it away, what did?” There was nothing malicious in the crimson-eyed man’s voice, just pure curiosity.

Harry kept quiet for a few, long, tense seconds. He buried his face in his quivering palms, mumbling incoherently.

Tom furrowed his brows “I didn’t quite catch that, darling.”

Harry looked up at the ceiling, face quite red. “It was your voice.”

“My… voice. You figured out who I am, by my _voice._ I’m sorry; that’s _ridiculous.”_

Harry felt irritation prickling him amidst his embarrassment. “Oh please, have you heard yourself?” Harry snapped. “Your voice is like all the best parts of all the instruments in the orchestra got married in your throat. It’s so rich, yet smooth, deep yet not too deep. It’s fucking _perfect_. You think I’d forget a torturous, tantalizing voice like yours?!”

Harry suddenly realized what he was saying and clamped his lips shut, but it was too late. He peeked up at the man beside him; Tom was staring at him.

A deep, low chuckle filled the room, and Harry flushed an even brighter red. He sank into his chair, slumping into it as if he were trying to disappear. 

Tom smirked, leaning towards the emerald eyed man. “I am quite well known _without_ my mask as well, but no one has paid my voice enough attention to figure out Lord V’s identity.”

He had finally said it, and the name hung heavily in the silence that surrounded them for several moments. Tom opened his mouth again. “So, my _voice-”_

“Nope, nope, nope; forget I said anything about that gorgeous, unreal voice of yours. I did not say that I pity the people who’ve never heard it, nor did I say that your voice is so beautiful that it can never be replicated; not by nature or by alien technology three hundred years from now. And I certainly did not say anything about being persuaded to sell my soul to you, if only to hear you sing. And I definitely did not say anything about you coordinating every chord and drop so well that I have trouble believing that a person made it. I did not voice my doubts about you being an angel or a devil, or maybe something that supersedes them both, because you’re too fucking perfect to exist,” Harry mumbled to himself, his voice gradually getting smaller and smaller as he realized exactly where he was and who he was talking to.

“So, my voice.” This time, there was no mistaking it, it was Lord V’s voice, a little huskier than normal, a little rough where Tom Riddle’s was all smooth and dark. 

Harry buried his face in his arms. “Kill me now.”

“Come now, darling, if I kill you then I won’t be able to take you out to dinner. It’s terrible etiquette to kill someone before a date, you know,” Tom said.

Harry shot up. “W-what?!”

“I was going to ask you out because you were cute, but you appreciating my voice so much definitely helps.”

Harry risked a glance up (why the fuck was he so tall anyways?!) and clutched at his chest as if to ensure that his heart did not jump out at the sight of the dark smirk that graced the handsome aristocratic face.

“I- uh- I need time to think, we barely know each other!” Harry was slowly becoming more coherent around this godly creature, thankfully.

“That _is_ what dates are for,” Tom pointed out, before straightening up and taking a step away just as Dumbledore’s office door swung open and Cho walked out, waving at Harry before leaving.

Albus walked out. “Hello, boys. Tom, I trust you’ll not cause too much trouble for Harry? It is his lunch break right now.”

Tom widened his eyes. “Me, cause trouble? Honestly Albus, your lack of faith in me is disturbing.”

Albus chuckled, but followed Cho’s footsteps after bidding them goodbye, despite Harry’s prayers. 

As soon as the lobby was deserted, Tom turned back to Harry.

“Well?”

“No! You were an utter jerk last time, you know,” Harry said with a scowl. Tom would never voice out the thought that it simply made him look cute, but it was present.

“I’ll serenade you after as an apology; how about that?” 

Harry thought about it. He’d promised himself that he would not date someone simply because they had an attractive voice (like Draco Malfoy), especially if the someone was a jerk. But at the same time…

His voice was still like the thrill of heavy bass and a rush of adrenaline caressing him ever so slowly. And on top of that, the bastard was _attractive._ He was tall, and Harry was loathe to admit it but he loved being the little spoon. Lord V was graceful on and off stage, Harry could confidently say that now; not that it helped him one bit. 

Tom Riddle was an attractive man, with kissable lips and a completely shaggable personality. Lord V was equally attractive, with a lean, muscular body and a voice from the heavens. Harry was not a shallow man, but if he had met either of the personas at a club, he would not have hesitated to jump him. 

He bit his lower lip. He did not want to go on a date with a jerk. But said jerk was hot _and_ had a voice that made him melt. _I wonder what he’ll sound like in bed,_ a traitorous part of Harry’s mind whispered. Harry immediately shut down that line of thought.

“Fine! But I’m agreeing to this only for the song, so it better be a good one,” he warned.

Tom’s face lit up, and Harry physically had to look away. He was _radiant._

“I’ll make it a good one,” Tom promised with a wicked smile. Harry groaned. That smile did _things_ to him, it was certainly not recommended if he wanted to keep his sanity and wits about him.

“Give me your phone.” Harry slid it over the desk after punching in his password, then went back to hiding his face in his arms. A few moments later, the glass screen touched his fingertips gently.

“I’ll text you later, darling,” that sinful voice promised, and the devil was gone.

**  
  
**

____________________________________

**  
  
**

“Oh god, I have a date.” Harry was throwing clothes out of his wardrobe. Hermione sat on his bed cross legged, happy to watch him suffer.

“That rude guy who came in last week? I still don’t know why you said yes.”

“Mione, his voice was _not mortal,”_ Harry straightened and faced his female best friend seriously. Hermione stared back for several seconds.

“Ron was right, you definitely have a voice fetish,” Hermione sighed.

Harry’s cheeks burned, but he went back to raiding his wardrobe. He hadn’t told his best friends about Tom’s other identity, which he felt slightly guilty about, but he had decided to wait until after the date, so he would know how this relationship was going to play out.

Ron entered a few minutes later, when Harry was trying to decide between a grey and a green dress shirt.

“Grey, and wear your green trousers,” the redhead advised. Harry nodded, and pulled out said pair of trousers.

“What’s the time?” he asked nervously.

“Seven. We’re dropping you off, there’s no way I’m going to let you drive in such a state,” Hermione answered, getting up and tugging Ron out with her. “Change, and at least get the tangles out of your hair.”

“Ginny said it looks artfully messy!” Harry called after her.

“Not if it is tangled enough to be a bird’s nest!” his brainiac friend called back before shutting the bedroom door.

**  
  
**

____________________________________

**  
  
**

Tom had texted him the address of an expensive Italian restaurant. He had also offered to pick Harry up like a true gentleman, but that meant Hermione and Ron would meet him and see the utter disaster Harry was in front of hot men with sexy voices. Knowing and seeing it were two completely different things, and Harry preferred to keep it that way for as long as possible.

His best friends had dropped him off at the doors with the parting words, “Stay safe!” and “Your house is gonna be empty tonight!” 

He needed to find better friends.

Harry took in a deep breath and walked in, offering a small smile to the man at the door. 

“I’m here for Riddle,” he told the receptionist quietly. The woman ran her finger down the list she had, before nodding. 

“Right this way, sir,” she said, and led him to a booth near the back of the restaurant, hidden away from the patrons dining at tables.

Harry’s face was slowly turning red as they approached the booths, for he could clearly see broad shoulders and the back of a neat head of raven hair. _Tom’s shoulders look very nice in a blazer_ , his mind supplied. Harry didn’t have the strength to argue. 

Tom glanced up from his phone when he heard the approaching voices, and a quick glance over his shoulder had him standing up. 

“I hope you have a great time here, gentlemen,” their host said with a warm smile, before walking away.

Harry glanced up through his lashes, shy and unsure. Tom raised an eyebrow at him, looking him over. He smirked and extended a hand. Harry felt a jolt of electricity rush through his body as he bashfully offered his own slightly shaking hand. To his surprise, Tom didn’t shake it, or even kiss it, but pulled him closer to himself. Harry felt his hot breath against his ear, his musky and metallic scent clouded his mind as his eyes fluttered close.

“You look _lovely_ , darling.”

Harry’s face went aflame as that voice, so reminiscent of silky, dark chocolate whispered right into his ear. He caught another whiff of Tom’s cologne; it was almost as addictive as his voice.

“T-thank you.”

Tom gestured Harry to the other side of the booth, waiting until he was seated before following suit.

“How have you been, darling? I didn’t get to see your face for two whole days.” 

Harry was desperately trying to control his rapidly beating heart.

“I-I’ve been good,” he mumbled quietly. “Uh, what about you?”

“I’ve been doing great, thank you for asking,” Tom said with a charming smile. Harry couldn’t help smiling back. “Would you like something to drink? The waiters will come only when called,” Tom gestured to the little silver bell in the center of the table.

Harry nodded and reached for the drinks menu. He quickly scanned it, trying not to glance at the prices. He wasn’t poor, by any means, and could afford to splurge for the evening, but old habits die hard, and he would have automatically gone for the cheapest item, like he did on the extremely rare occasions when the Dursleys took him out with them.

Tom must have sensed his slight hesitation. “The Vermentino is delightful, if you prefer white wine. I’m partial to the Campaccio myself.” 

Harry scanned the menu for the aforementioned drinks, noting that his date preferred red wine. That was useful informati- _This is a one time thing!_ He screamed inwardly.

_Or is it?_

“I’ll have the Rosé,” he answered after a moment. 

Tom nodded, placing his own menu down and reaching for the little bell. His fingers curled ever so slightly- had his fingers always been this perfect? Long, prominently knuckled, the kind of hands that one could find only in anatomy textbooks. His hands were every bit as sinful as his voice and physique, but was that really a surprise? Harry was vaguely aware that he was staring at his hands way too much for it to not be a bit awkward, but he couldn’t stop looking. Those fingers promised wicked things, and it definitely wasn’t helping Harry.

“Is something the matter?” And he’d been caught. Harry felt a blush crawl up his neck.

“Nope, nothing!”

Tom tilted his head ever so slightly, but nodded, retracting his hands, but instead of placing them in his lap like before, he threaded his fingers together and tucked them under his chin.

Like Harry needed another reason to stare at his face.

Fortunately, a waiter appeared before Harry could make a fool of himself, and Harry managed to cool his face down a bit while Tom gave their order, but he could still not tear his eyes away from Tom’s chin. From his hands or his lips.

“How did you start working for Albus?” Tom asked curiously, once the waiter had left, either not noticing the way Harry was blatantly staring at his hands, or choosing to ignore it. Harry leaned towards the latter; the bastard seemed to know everything.

He sighed. “My best friend’s mother introduced me.”

“I see. What made you choose to work for a music company?”

Harry’s lips curled upward. “Shouldn’t I get a question first?”

Tom raised an eyebrow. A perfect eyebrow. Damn him. “Go ahead,” he said with a smirk.

“Why keep your identity a secret?” Harry had been extremely curious about this ever since he had found out Lord V’s identity. Before that, the singer had been an untouchable deity, but realizing that it was a man behind the mask had made him wonder - why did he not want the fame?

Tom’s kissable lips curled into a smirk. “Why, darling, big guns already? I don’t answer that before the fifth date.”

Harry couldn’t keep himself from snorting. “You’ve gone on five dates with someone?” he asked mischievously, leaning forward. 

Something about Tom Riddle made him lose his inhibitions. Whether it was a good thing or a bad one, only time would tell, but at least it helped in avoiding awkward silence. It was easy, being comfortable about him. (If he could ignore the effects his voice had on him, and the fact that his mind conjured up scenarios extremely inappropriate to think about when he had company.)

Tom let out that low, deep chuckle that sent shivers up his spine. “No, I haven’t gone beyond three dates.”

Harry didn’t have a chance to reply to his arrogant statement. The waiter arrived with two expensive looking bottles. He leaned back slightly and watched in fascination as the rich, sparkling wines were poured. Tom twirled his glass and sipped at his blood-red wine. Deciding to follow his lead to fill in the awkward silence, Harry picked his glass up, taking care to not spill any of the contents. He peered at the pink, almost coral, wine, sloshed it around and cautiously sipped. His eyes fluttered close.

Delicately fruity, crisp and delicious. Harry thought he detected strawberries and watermelons, but to be honest, it was hard to tell if the heavenly taste had any earthly elements at all. He took a longer sip and swallowed. Placing his glass down, he gave Tom a dopey smile and looked at him through hooded eyes.

“Why, Riddle, you didn’t strike me as a one-off type of guy,” Harry replied, waggling his eyebrows.

“Maybe I just haven’t found the one,” Tom crooned, leaning forward to meet his gaze evenly.

Harry flushed and leaned back. “Don’t dig into this, I’m only here for the song.”

“Of course. May I suggest going through the menu?” He picked up the one next to him.

Harry snapped out of his amusement, glancing at the offending slim book. Ordering was his least favourite thing to do, especially when visiting a new place. It was the reason the only new restaurants he went to were ones his friends took him to, where they could order for him.

He gingerly picked it up, turning the pages slowly, before looking up. Tom, feeling the weight of a glance on him, met his eyes.

“What do you think I would like?” Harry asked challengingly, underlying nervousness showing through as he brushed back a fringe that never troubled him. Tom’s lips pulled into a smirk.

“You don’t have anything in particular that you would like?”

Shaking his head, Harry placed the menu back. Tom nodded and put his down as well, before resting his chin on one hand.

“The food here is always excellent. May I suggest trying the chef’s choice, then?” he said, red eyes glinting with - _something._

Harry shrugged, licking his dry lips when long graceful fingers reached for the silver bell button again. This was ridiculous. How could such little things affect him so much?!

Suddenly feeling extremely thirsty, he reached for his wine glass, nursing it as a waiter appeared to take their orders and refilled his empty glass. Tom hadn’t even finished half of his.

The other man seemed to realize this as well, and reached for his blood red drink. Harry could only keep staring as he took a sip, Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed. He gulped as a bead of red remained on those sinful lips, and Tom slowly licked it away, staring right back at him.

_This was going to be one long dinner._

**  
  
**

____________________________________

**  
  
**

Harry had managed to survive dinner, and was now gulping down the last of his wine as Tom paid. He was not against splitting the bill, but Tom had looked him straight in the eye.

“I asked you out, Harry, I’ll pay,” he had said seriously, and Harry hadn’t bothered arguing. Not like he could formulate words when smouldering crimson eyes stared right into his soul.

“Shall we get going?” Tom asked, standing up. Harry nodded and trailed after the taller man, as they made their way into the parking lot, and towards a black car.

“Where are you going to take me now?” Harry asked curiously as Tom held open the door to the passenger seat. 

“I promised you a serenade, darling. But I need an instrument, and mine are back at my house. I hope you don’t mind?”

Harry slowly climbed into the car. “As long as you drive me home.” He trusted this red-eyed musician.

The car ride was silent, but the air was filled with something, an emotion Harry did not want to put a name to.

**  
  
**

____________________________________

**  
  
**

Tom’s house was just as extravagant as he had expected. It was a sprawling mansion, with a wide front lawn, and a gorgeous garden, from what Harry caught a peek of, that took over all the land between the building and the forest nearby.

During the walk from Tom’s car to the front door, Harry learnt that the former had inherited from his father.

“He was rich,” Tom said with a shrug, as he unlocked the carved wooden door. “And apparently very generous with his wealth. This was the only thing he didn’t donate or sell. At least, that’s what Hepzi says.”

“Hepzi?” Harry stepped into the foyer, ignoring his surroundings to focus his attention on his companion.

“The housekeeper.” Tom stared down at his feet, before looking up, a sort of determination filling his eyes. “I never saw my father.”

Harry blinked. That was an answer he had not expected. He desperately wanted to know more, but had a feeling that it was too soon to push. 

Tom led him through the house, which definitely looked like something off a movie set, and soon they were standing on a patio.

After making sure Harry was comfortable, seated on a sofa, the man disappeared.

Harry used the time to look around. To his left was the garden. It was just like he had predicted - big and beautiful. There were several flowers that he recognized immediately, having tended to them before, and several exotic ones that he didn’t. 

The area to his right was shrouded in complete darkness - the lighting from the Manor did not cut through it. Harry didn’t really mind the partial darkness that he sat in - he and the dark were old friends. It had been his first home, after all.

He relaxed in his place, toeing off his shoes and tucking his feet under him as he listened to the crickets chirping. It wasn’t very late, but it was already quite dark - Tom’s home lay on the outskirts of the city, and the night sky was clearly visible. It was a sight he could get used to.

His mind was just beginning to wander when a single chord cut through the silence. Harry’s eyes instinctively fluttered close as he turned his head towards the source of the sound- somewhere dark, a little to his right.

The piano sounded rich and sweet; the minor chords that flowed from it stirred up memories and emotions melancholic yet hopeful. Harry stood up and took a slow step towards the source of the sound.

He wasn’t sure where he was walking to, the music had almost taken on a physical form, guiding his feet towards where he’d deduced Tom was playing a piano. His mind raced as he recalled the first time he’d seen McGonagall play and how entranced he’d felt. 

Tom had started singing, his voice sounded like it had been tailored for this. He’d never sung like this before. Tom’s voice had always made Harry feel emotions he’d never known had existed before, but _this._

This was different.

Tom threw his head back slightly as he sang a high note. Harry gently glided his hand along the edge of the grand piano.

_“Everybody wants to be loved, every once in a while….”_

All he had wanted was for his family to love him. Why had he been born a freak? He did all his chores, he was such a good boy - he obeyed every single thing Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon told him too…..

_“And I’ll take these memories with me, to be my sunshine after the rain…”_

He was small, so small. How could he play something as magnificent as that with his tiny fingers? Harry looked at the piano sadly, standing on his tiptoes to glimpse the black keys and then looked down at his own hands. He imagined what it would feel like to weave magic with them like McGonagall had used to. If he concentrated hard enough, he could almost feel the ivory.

The chords shifted, changing from a minor to major key. Tom’s low voice snaked into his mind, almost holding him by the hand as his voice took him from memory to memory.

_“And like a lonely highway, I’m trying to get home…”_

He smiled. His hands darted over the keys. His fingers ached from playing five fingered chords, he was struggling to pedal properly, but he was doing it. He felt his heart swell with so much joy he’d thought he would explode. He wasn’t Harry Potter the freak, the burden; he was a musician. He was a wizard. And there, in a tiny theatre in Surrey, Harry Potter was home.

Tom’s singing shifted again. His hands glided over the ivory, as smooth and effortless as his voice.

_“Hate the sound that goodbyes make….”_

He’d been broken. Everything he was and had ever wanted to be had been stolen from him. He felt numb to the world, all he could think about was the pain. He’d never be able to play again. He’d had a taste of what he could do, and that’s all he had gotten. That’s all he had deserved. Harry didn’t have the strength to think; all he could do was feel.

Lost. Hopeless. _Broken._

The music had abruptly stopped. Everything looked a bit blurry; it took a while for Harry to realise that he was crying. He hung his head, letting his hair block the view of his face. He raised a hand and wiped his tears, nearly injuring himself for he was trembling so violently.

Tom looked concerned and mildly panicked. He took one of Harry’s hands in his own, holding it firmly. “What happened, darling?”

Harry sniffled. He didn’t say anything for a while. Tom rubbed circles into the back of his hand, not willing to break the silence.

“I… I used to play...” Harry said, his voice barely a whisper.

Tom stared at him for a moment, as if gauging if he should ask why he had stopped. After an internal debate which Harry could see in his eyes, he patted the place next to him.

Harry slid onto the bench next to him, reaching out a tentative hand to brush against the ivory and ebony keys. Tom’s eyes lingered on his trembling fingers - he knew why Harry didn’t play anymore, now.

Harry gingerly pressed down a key. He remembered every piece, every song. He was about to withdraw his hand when a warm weight settled upon it.

He looked sideways at Tom. Tom held his hand silently, staring at him, as if searching for something, before he held up his other hand.

Trembling, Harry accepted it, and allowed Tom to position both his hands over the keys. And then, their hands began to move.

Harry couldn’t keep in his tears, and didn’t bother to try. Tom guided him slowly, playing the notes of his favourite song - how had he known? - and music filled the darkness around them again.

Harry was in Hogwarts, still in awe. He felt intimidated and small looking at the grand castle-turned-boarding school that was going to be his home. He looked around himself; everyone had already formed groups and were standing together. Harry felt a sudden stab of loneliness, his eyes burned. 

“Blimey, that’s a bloody big castle! I’m Ron by the way, Ron Weasley. Do you want a sandwich? My mum made these, they’re too many for me alone,” a tall, pale, redhead grinned nervously at him. 

And Harry didn’t feel so lonely anymore.

His eyes were closed, unaware of Tom’s eyes gazing at his face, hands moving from muscle memory alone. Harry smiled softly through the steady stream of tears. He could feel his hands trembling but Tom steadied them enough for him to be able to play again. His fingers floated over the keys, Tom’s gentle hands a welcome weight on his own.

He felt _free._ Sitting with Ron and Hermione on the roof that night, watching the sun rise, he’d felt as free as a bird. He was with people he loved who loved him too, for a moment he didn’t notice his hands trembling. He belonged here, leaning on Hermione’s shoulder, laughing at Ron’s antics. It was a different kind of magic altogether. 

He was home.

Harry laughed in pure delight as he and Tom played. The key changed again, the music now lively and uplifting. Harry was sure he’d never felt this euphoric, not even the first time he’d played a piece perfectly. 

And then Tom began singing again.

_“Hearts will dream again_

_Lungs will breathe in_

_Wash away the sins_

_It's where it begins_

_Feet won't fail you now_

_Arms won't let you down_

_Wash away the sins_

Tom Marvolo Riddle. Lord V. 

_Under the water we can be together_

_Under the water we lie together_

_Then why don't we jump in?”_

Their hands stilled as Tom sang the last line, gazing back. Crimson locked on green.

For a moment, they didn’t move. Harry thought he could still feel the music lingering in the air, clinging to them. He smiled at Tom, leaning into him and closing his eyes. “Thank you,” he whispered.

Tom said nothing, merely raising his arms and wrapping them around Harry in a gentle embrace. Harry tilted his head upwards and gazed into Tom’s eyes again. Their lips met in a kiss Harry had wanted since the first time he had laid his eyes on the man. It was soft, it was sweet, it was everything Harry had imagined Tom was _not._ But it was everything he hadn’t realized he needed.

Harry pulled away when the lack of air became apparent, but he had found his new addiction. Tom’s voice may be sinful, but his lips were even more so. He dove in for another kiss, more heated than the last.

Tom never did drive Harry home that night.

**  
  
  
**


End file.
